


i just want your extra time and your....

by M0stlyVoid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Not Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter), Accidental Bonding, Additional Explanation in Author's Note, Auror Harry Potter, Frottage, Fuck Or Die, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter is Obsessed with Draco Malfoy, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Oral Sex, Sexuality Crisis, Spell Failure, Writer Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26739505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Ron shouldknow betterthan to speak Latin in a magical library. If he’d just left well enough alone, instead of trying to badger Malfoy for the details of his newest novel, Harry wouldn’t have to listen to all of this chatter about how bloodydecentMalfoy is, and he wouldn’t be dealing with all of these...feelings.Really, it’s all Ron’s fault that Harry’s mind is stuck on Malfoy like this again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 88
Kudos: 595
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	i just want your extra time and your....

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt [#199B](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#): _Draco ends up in a fuck or die scenario with [insert single male friend of Harry's]. Harry expects his friend to be horrified in the aftermath, but when instead he raves about how great a lay Draco was, it starts to bring up some new feelings in Harry._
> 
> thank you to honest ABE for getting me over the finish line with this and making sure the story is in tip-top shape. rockstar status as always.
> 
> re: the **mildly dubious consent** tag—a spell requiring two participants to have sex or die is cast, which makes the entire scenario inherently dubcon. however, a good time is had by all.

Harry sighs, and then when that doesn’t elicit the reaction he was looking for, sighs again more loudly, adding in a despairing shoulder slump.

Ron glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “You didn’t _have_ to come, you know,” he hisses, readjusting the massive pile of books he’s attempting to balance in his arms as the two of them follow Hermione through the stacks. “If you insist on being here, you could _help,_ though? These books are bloody heavy, and Hermione will get all disappointed if I use a charm or anything. Bloody specialty libraries and their bloody _magic sensitivity_ bollocks; I reckon it’s shite and the bloody book-minders are just having a laugh.”

“ _Didn’t have to come,_ my arse,” Harry replies, dutifully taking two thin books off the top of Ron’s stack. Ron glares. “You’ve been on me for _days_ about this little outing. _Harry, I’m so nervous to see her. Harry, I don’t know how to be alone with her anymore! Harry, please come awkwardly crash what is_ very clearly a date even if I won’t admit it to myself _because I’m too much of a wally to—_ Hey, you wanker, don’t _pinch_ me, you’re going to drop everything!”

Ron wavers back and forth a bit until the books re-balance, then shoots Harry a murderous stare. “You’re a real arse when you’re single, you know. Look, I’m _sorry_ alright, I know this is ridiculous, just—I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what to say to her. It’s easy when it’s all three of us still, right? Like nothing’s changed. But the minute you leave for a minute or two it’s like...I’m afraid I’ll just put my foot in it and she’ll add another month onto this thing or something.”

Harry sighs, then relieves Ron of a few more books. “Yeah, you’re pretty hopeless, I’ll grant you that. But honestly mate, you’ve got to stop talking about this like you’re on some sort of prison term and Hermione is the sentencing judge. You _know_ why she asked for a break. If you keep acting like you’re just waiting it out to placate her she’s going to see right through you and you’ll never get back together. You can’t reason her into starting back up with you just because an arbitrary amount of time has gone by.”

Ron’s shoulders slump. “I know. I _know._ It’s just hard! It’s not even like I disagree with her or anything, just...it seems so pointless. We’re _meant_ to be together, so why bother with this whole break thing at all?”

Harry shrugs and nudges Ron out of the way just in time as one of the magical resorting carts barrels down the aisle. “You don’t like it when I’m blunt with you about this, so I’m not going to say anything as I don’t want to row here—this library creeps me out. But, you know what I think about all of this.”

Harry is telling the truth about this library being intensely disturbing—he always feels like there are eyes on the back of his neck, but whenever he turns around nothing's there. However, he mostly doesn’t want to instigate another disagreement that will lead to weeks of muttered resentment whenever he and Ron get together.

The thing is, Harry is firmly on Hermione’s side here, though he’d never say as much out loud. After the first blush of post-war had faded, Hermione became increasingly irritated with Ron’s, as she put it, _inability to do anything for himself and insistence on treating me like a mother who also dispenses sexual favors on-demand_ (Harry had drank fairly heavily after witnessing _that_ argument), while Ron felt that now that they were together, that was that—villain slain, heroes get their girls, remaining bad guys get their punishments, good guys live in luxury and bliss for the rest of their days.

Harry knows it isn't that simple, and anyway, anyone reducing _Hermione Granger_ to some sort of war prize deserved any of the increasingly-vicious _Oppugnos_ she cast on him at the end of each fight, when she couldn’t take it any longer. And as much as he empathises with Ron’s desire for a peaceful, carefree life, he knows that there had still been work to be done, and anyway, war or not, relationships require effort, don’t they? That’s why he and Ginny fizzled, after all—neither of them cared enough to put in the work to maintain a romantic relationship, and between that and their sexual incompatibility, they fell back into being just friends almost immediately that summer.

Anyway, eventually Hermione had enough of picking up Ron’s socks behind him and having to ask him to set the washing-up spells after each and every meal, and gave him the boot with an ultimatum: until you can act like an independent adult, we can’t be together.

Harry had silently applauded her, and let Ron stay in one of Grimmauld Place’s myriad guest rooms (Ron had at least rightly deduced that moving back into the Burrow would only enrage Hermione further) with the understanding that he would _not_ be picking up her slack in the clean-up department—Harry had put a lot of work into making Grimmauld a sanctuary for himself, and with Kreacher permanently installed at Hogwarts, he had no interest in picking up after his friend.

And, slowly but surely, Ron’s been improving—he handles his own chores now, and proactively cleans or runs errands when he sees they’re needed, and sets his own Healer appointments without reminders. The last obstacle that Harry can see to him and Hermione getting back together (and good _lord_ is he ever ready for that to happen; Ron’s sexual frustration has manifested in loud whining, while Hermione’s has made her even more short-tempered than usual, and Harry _simply cannot handle it any longer_ ) is Ron’s unwillingness to actually admit there had been a problem in the first place, and that all of this has been some great favour he’s bestowed upon her.

Harry just hopes he moves past _that_ attitude soon; these pseudo-dates he’s been dragged on with them the last few weeks have been promising, at least, so he’s looking forward to hopefully getting his house back to himself in the near future.

“You’re right,” Ron interrupts his musing as they round a corner. “I do appreciate you coming. And I’m sure that soon we’ll both be a little less...awkward...and you can have your weekends back, instead of going everywhere with us like some sort of weird seventeenth-century chaperone. Merlin, _imagine_ if people still used those on dates?”

Harry groans as they stop at the intersection of several aisles, where Hermione had instructed them to meet her. “No thank you. It’s bad enough pretending I don’t know what you’re doing when the two of you sneak off for a quarter of an hour at the pub—if I had to somehow _intervene_ I’d simply stop being your friend.”

“And I wouldn’t blame you,” Ron says heartily, nudging Harry with the stack of books. “Now, where _is_ she? Bloody disturbing place, this; I wouldn’t be surprised if she got swept up in—Hermione! There you are. Look, we’ve found all the books from that list—now what?” His voice is painfully earnest, and Harry coughs into his sleeve to avoid a laugh.

“Oh, Ron, thank you. The study tables are just down this aisle here—can you put them on the biggest table still open? Harry, you too, but then I’ll need one of you to come back and help—I still have some more that I need to track down, and I’ll need someone taller.” Hermione peers hopefully in Ron’s direction.

Naturally, he misses it entirely, too eager to fulfill her first request. “Harry, hand over those books, I can carry them all—I’ll go get us a table, close to the window but not too close, right? And get these all organised by author for you.”

Hermione sighs, but forces a smile at Harry, who grimaces back as he dutifully passes the books over. “Right, Harry. I’ll just be...down here, then.” She scurries partway down another aisle, then pulls out a list and looks between it and a shelf just past her arm-reach.

Harry hustles after Ron, who’s determinedly making his way towards the tables. “Mate! She wanted _you_ to help her,” he scolds when he catches up. “She asked for _someone tall,_ she wanted you to reach up and gallantly get everything she can’t reach! What is _wrong_ with you??”

Ron freezes at the end of the stacks, then groans and bangs his head forward into his pile of books. Harry springs forward to brace them and keep any from falling to the ground. “Bloody hell, you’re right. Well, it’s too late now...if I went back it would be weird, right? It would be. Look, just help me find a table and I’ll get these bloody things all laid out, and when you’re grabbing the books try not to be too _gallant_ about it, right?”

Harry rolls his eyes and leads the way to the biggest table still available. “Absolutely, I’ll make sure to be extremely rude to one of my oldest friends so she doesn’t suddenly start thinking, _My, that Harry Potter sure is a gentleman, and he’s rather fit these days too, you know what, maybe I’ve been going about this all wrong, and—_ ”

“ _Merlin,_ ” drawls an exceptionally irritated-sounding voice from a few tables down. “Potter, as _fascinating_ as your deranged romantic fantasies undoubtedly are to a certain subset of the population, this is a _library,_ and some of us are attempting to _work_. Is it too much to ask for a bit of quiet?”

“Shit!” Harry says, too loud, as he spins around to meet Draco Malfoy’s annoyed grey gaze. “Merlin, Malfoy, you scared me. And I wasn’t— That wasn’t— Urgh. Never mind, yes, we’ll try to keep it down.”

Ron punctuates that statement by dumping all the books onto the table with an almighty _crash_. Harry winces, and Malfoy closes his eyes as if he’s in pain. “Oi, Malfoy, didn’t expect to see you here! Bit of an odd library choice for some peace, innit, it’s right disturbing in here—hey, what _are_ you working on?” He cranes his neck to try and get a glimpse of the books on Malfoy’s table.

Draco Malfoy’s post-war journey is probably one of the strangest, Harry muses as he watches Malfoy snatch the books closer and hide their covers with a glare. The entire Malfoy family had slithered out of any punishments (to this day, Harry isn’t sure how, and he doesn’t think Minister Shacklebolt knows either), and Lucius and Narcissa very publicly donate to all the right charities and attend all the right events—Harry’s even greeted them at fundraisers before, with a smile pasted to his face and his teeth grinding themselves to dust as he trades inane small talk with a man who’s tried to kill him multiple times.

 _Draco_ Malfoy, though—he was the only Slytherin to repeat his seventh year at Hogwarts, instead of taking his NEWTs remotely or packing off to finish abroad like the others. By all accounts, he’d kept to himself, and in return was largely left alone—Hermione had reported that the student population hadn’t quite known how to react to him, and the general consensus seemed to be that as long as he didn’t cause trouble, nobody else would either. After the school year, he’d had an incredibly public row with his parents; nobody knew what started the argument, but the pictures in the _Prophet_ the next day showed him very clearly ripping the family signet ring off his finger and throwing it in Lucius’ shocked-looking face in the middle of Diagon Alley before storming off. From what Harry can tell, he hasn’t spoken to his parents since.

What occurred after _that_ was even stranger—the worst-kept secret in the Wizarding world is that Malfoy’s pen name is Rod Stone, the author behind an unbelievably popular romance series, beloved by not only the stereotypical housewife audience but anyone who’s read even one of the novels. They feature a loosely-connected group of friends and their various romantic and professional entanglements, and are all well-researched and _wildly_ sexy.

Harry’s read them—of course he has, everyone’s read them. And he’s learned that any of the novels featuring either the Auror partners, or the Cursebreaker and the Unspeakable, need to be read in the privacy of his own home—one _SAVIOUR SCARLET OVER SALACIOUS STONE STORY_ headline and accompanying photo had been enough, thank you very much, and he’d fended off enough questions on why he was blushing so much over the idea of two men being together to last him a lifetime. He does have to admit that Malfoy gets a lot of the details of Auror investigations right, and Bill Weasley has commented on similar accuracy regarding Cursebreaking.

So, seeing Malfoy in a library wasn’t entirely unexpected—but seeing him in _this_ library, with a pile of old books in front of him and a long parchment covered in his cramped handwriting pooling down to his feet, thin silver glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he frowns disapprovingly at Ron and splays his hands over the paper in front of him—well, Harry’s a bit flustered, is all.

You don’t run into your old schoolboy nemesis-turned-famous-author while acting as an uncomfortable third wheel for your best friends every day, after all. That’s why he’s feeling hot at the neck and sweaty under his arms.

Ron is still not-so-discreetly trying to get a look at Malfoy’s work, edging closer to the table as he talks, Hermione’s books forgotten. Harry rolls his eyes and, after nodding brusquely at Malfoy, turns on his heel and goes back to find Hermione, doing his best to ignore his embarrassing friend, though his best efforts can’t block out Malfoy’s loud grousing.

“Weasley, what I’m doing here is of no concern of _yours,_ I’m sure. Kindly go back to your _own_ table, and apologize to those books—they don’t deserve such rough treatment, and they won’t thank you for it.”

“Aw, c’mon, Malfoy—just a peek? Are you doing another one about the Cursebreaker and the Unspeakable? That all looks Latin—it’s gotta be, right? What’s the title of that… _Vinculum Sacramentum Aeturnum,_ bloody odd name for a—”

“Ron, no!” Harry cries, turning back around and grabbing for his wand, but it’s too late—a flash of silver magic throws him back as Ron’s words mix with the heavy ambient magic in the library and trigger— _something_.

Ears ringing and eyes burning, Harry climbs back to his feet and rushes over to where Ron and Malfoy are supine on their backs. “ _Finite,_ ” he snarls at the silver sparks still dancing over their bodies. They taunt him a bit, flirting with the magic streaming from his wand before disappearing with what Harry can only describe as a giggle, if magic could laugh.

He drops to his knees next to Ron and shoves his shoulder, and when he gets no response directs a _Rennervate_ at both him and Malfoy. By the time they’re both groaning and sitting up, Hermione’s come running into the study space, skidding to a stop next to Malfoy’s table.

“Oh my god,” she whimpers, covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes are huge. “Ron, oh my god, Ron, are you okay, what happened? Did…” her eyes tick to Malfoy, who’s rubbing his head and staring around the room in a daze, and she shakes her head just a bit. “Was there an explosion? Was it one of the books? Oh, I _told_ you to be careful in here, everything is so terribly old and there’s so much magic, it takes hardly anything to set them off…”

Harry cuts her off, for Ron’s sake—he still looks half-concussed and is clearly not registering a single thing she’s saying. “Hermione—Malfoy’s got a stack of books over there, and the one that’s open now, it wasn’t before; Ron read off the cover, it was in Latin, and then there was this blast of massive silver light. They were both unconscious when I got to them.”

Hermione marches over to the other side of the table, and Harry gingerly twirls a _Leviosa_ over at the book in question, leaving it floating innocently in midair so Hermione can examine it without touching anything.

Craning her neck, Hermione peers at the book’s cover, mouthing the title soundlessly to herself. She straightens, and Harry obligingly lowers the book so she can take a look at the page it had opened itself to. He watches with concern as she scans the pages and her face gets paler and paler.

Finally, she steps back from the table, and Harry wraps the book in a tight Stasis spell before he gently rests it back on the table. “Well?” he asks tightly, glancing at Ron and Malfoy, who are both still sitting on the ground, although they look a little more alert now.

“It’s...oh, Harry,” Hermione says, eyes filling with tears. “It’s a bonding spell, an old one—one of those repulsive little hexes the Old Families used to use on their young daughters who were not as enthusiastic about their arranged marriages as the grooms wanted them to be. It isn’t permanent, thank _Merlin,_ but it...oh, it’s meant to encourage marital consummation. If they don’t have sex within the next 24 hours, they’ll both die!”

 _That_ brings both Malfoy and Ron back to the present, and they both begin shouting.

“‘Mione, come _on,_ that can’t be—”

“—isn’t _possible,_ what do you know about the _Old Families_ anyway, and if you think I’m—”

“—there’s no way, there’s just _no way_ I’m sleeping with _him,_ he wouldn’t even know how to—”

“—earable notion that I’d debase myself with Potter’s pet Weasley, and—excuse me, _what_ did you say?”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy, everyone knows that the closest thing you get to a shag is those bloody _books_ of yours! When’s the last time anyone’s seen you with someone, or even _heard_ of someone taking you home—never, that’s when! And now I’ve got to guide your virgin arse through this so we don’t _die,_ Merlin, what were you even doing with a book like that?”

Malfoy draws himself up, as much as one can when they’re half-sprawled on the floor. “I think you’ll recall that it was _you_ who activated the spell, in fact. Pardon _me_ for doing my _research_ before writing about a topic,” he hisses, “and you can _rest assured_ that I do my research for _every scene of these books,_ you small-minded little buffoon. Just because I don’t parade my lovers across the front pages of whatever rag is willing to publish a photo like your friend over there—”

“Hey!” Harry interjects; only half-heartedly, though, because really, Malfoy’s not wrong. Harry just has terrible luck, though; he never _means_ to get photographed with his dates, the paps just seem to always know where he’s going to be.

Malfoy continues as if Harry had not spoken. “—does not mean I do not take them. You should _be_ so lucky, Weasley.”

“Well, what do you know—it looks like I’m going to be!” Ron roars, staggering to his feet. “Bloody _hell,_ this is utter bollocks. I’m going to the Ministry—I’ll have to put in for emergency leave, and register this with the Bonds division. Maybe someone there knows a counterspell.” He starts wobbling in the general direction of the door before pausing to turn and glare back at them. “Well? You have to come along too, Malfoy. I can’t exactly register a bond without you, can I. Tosser.”

Hermione snaps out of her frozen posture and rushes over to help Ron to the exit, leaving Harry with Malfoy, who glares up at him petulantly. “Well, Potter? Are you going to help me up?”

“Merlin,” Harry mutters, reaching down and heaving Malfoy to his feet. “Alright then, Malfoy—let’s get you to the Ministry. If we’re lucky, there’s been a counter to this invented, and you’ll be on your way in no time.”

Malfoy mutters something that sounds like _I’m never lucky, look at who I’m stuck with,_ which strikes Harry as rather unfair, but he manoeuvres them to the exit anyway, and only lets Malfoy accidentally stumble into one of the sorting carts twice.

* * *

Two hours later, and Malfoy and Ron are mirror images of frozen despair in Harry’s office. Malfoy is silent and ashen, while Ron is muttering under his breath, eyes wide and fixed on a far point in the distance.

Hermione and Harry exchange a loaded glance before she claps her hands and attempts a cheery expression. “Right! So, this wasn’t the news we wanted, of course, but it’s not all bad! You should only have to, ah… _reach completion_ once, as opposed to the traditional three times that used to be mandated by the spell; we’re lucky the magic in the room only picked up on the skeleton of the spell and didn’t focus enough to bring the entire thing to life, or we’d be having to look into a divorce solicitor in a few weeks’ time!” Her laugh trails off sickly, and Malfoy fixes her with a withering glare. She winces. “Right. So. You’ll have to stay within ten feet until the spell has been, er, satisfied as it were, but once that’s done you’ll be released from the constraints of the bond instantly, with no ill side-effects.”

“Grand,” mutters Malfoy, getting to his feet and showily straightening his trousers. “Let’s go then, Weasley. The sooner this is over the better, frankly—ideally, I’ll have you out of my house by morning, and I can spend Sunday drinking away this entire ghastly affair and still be able to attend my obligations Monday morning.”

“ _Your_ house? Who said anything about me going to _your_ house? Why wouldn’t you be coming back to mine?” Ron asks, affronted.

Malfoy turns slowly and crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “If you think there’s _any_ chance of me shagging you with Potter here in the next room, you’re delusional. Unlike you, _I_ live alone, therefore my house is the logical option. Plus—” and here he smirks, and Harry’s heart rate speeds up—no good can come from _that_ look. “—unless I’ve vastly underestimated your sex life with Granger here, or Potter’s hiding a deep, dark secret, you’ve none of the proper _supplies_ we’ll need.”

Ron groans. “Bloody fuck, I hate that you’re right. Fine, fine, take me back to your bloody _snake den_. Do you at least have decent alcohol?”

Draco sniffs. “Of course I do, but _you_ won’t be having any.”

“Why _not_?” Ron complains. Privately, Harry agrees. In fact, he could go for a strong drink right about now himself, and he doesn’t even need to— Shaking his head, he breaks himself off that train of thought in time to hear Malfoy’s response.

“I’ve never had to get a man drunk prior to taking him to bed, Weasley, and _you_ are certainly not going to be the first,” Malfoy replies acidly.

Sighing the sigh of a man much put-upon, Ron hauls himself to his feet, shoots Harry one last anguished glance, and squares his shoulders before striding over to Hermione and planting a kiss on her mouth. “I’ll see you two on the other side,” he mutters, flushing red and practically running out of the room.

Malfoy raises an eyebrow and unfolds himself from Harry’s sofa. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, peering out the door after Ron before turning and extending his hand. “Potter, Granger, it’s been...unforgettable. I’ll be sure to send you autographed copies of the next book in the series—I happen to know the author.” He winks, and Harry bangs his knee on his desk as he hastily stands up to accept Malfoy’s hand. His face feels hot, and he can practically feel Hermione rolling her eyes at him.

“Er—right. Good to see you, Draco. Malfoy.”

Malfoy pauses before he slowly lets go of Harry’s hand, both eyebrows approaching his hairline now. He sweeps his gaze from Harry’s head to his feet, and Harry thinks he’s sweating. “Interesting,” he says to himself, before nodding sharply at Hermione and turning heel to stride out the door.

Harry curses to himself, then sits back in his chair with a groan. Hermione takes the visitor chair opposite, and he does _not_ like the look in her eyes. “So, Harry…” she starts, leaning forward. “I couldn’t help but notice how unbelievably _awkward_ you are around Malfoy. What’s that about? When did that start?”

Harry groans. “I really don’t know. I haven’t seen him in _years,_ you know? Maybe it’s just...I mean, it’s a bit uncomfortable, seeing a bloke out of the blue when you’ve read some pretty graphic sex scenes he’s written, isn’t it?”

“And yet,” Hermione says with the tone of someone who’s made a grand discovery, “neither Ron nor myself acted like that. So, what do you think it _really_ was?”

Harry stares at her, perplexed. “I don’t...what are you talking about? Are you trying to hint at something, because I have to tell you, I’m really not up to puzzles at the moment. I keep thinking about what poor Ron has to do tonight, and...Merlin. At least _we_ can get a drink, right?”

Hermione sits back, looking satisfied. “Yes, that proves my point nicely, I think. No, don’t worry about it, you’ll figure it out eventually.” Her expression loses its brightness, then, and her lower lip trembles. “Oh, do you think Ron will be alright? Malfoy didn’t seem _too_ awful, but you know how Ron can be…”

Harry leans over his desk and pats her arm. “He’ll be fine, ‘Mione. Against all appearances, Malfoy apparently knows what he’s doing, and...honestly? I think Ron took the whole thing rather well, don’t you?”

Hermione nods slowly. “You’re right. He was shocked at first, of course, but really, at the end there...I’m surprised at how maturely he was handling it, all things considered.”

Harry tries not to get his hopes too high, but Hermione’s tone is thoughtful and, dare he say it, almost impressed. Perhaps this day won’t be a total backslide after all. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I _really_ need a drink right now. Do you want to come to the pub with me? We can drink our worries away, and if you’d like you can stay at mine, and we’ll have breakfast ready for Ron when he gets back tomorrow—how does that sound?”

Hermione stands so fast she almost knocks a file off Harry’s desk. “Yes. Good _lord,_ yes, do I ever need a drink. Let’s go.”

* * *

Harry glances worriedly at the clock. It's coming around to noon, and there's still no sign of Ron. Hermione is twisting her hands next to him on the couch in the sitting room, where they’d expanded out his coffee table to accommodate the vast quantities of food they’d stress-cooked that morning.

“Surely he should be back by now,” Hermione finally bursts out. “Oh, what if something went wrong—what if they’re _stuck_ —Harry, do you know Malfoy’s address?”

Harry puts his arm around her. “I’m sure it’s fine. Maybe he had too much to drink after— _after,_ and he’s sleeping off a hangover. Maybe he needed to be alone for a little while before he came home. Maybe—”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence, though, because just then the Floo flares, and Ron’s voice is heard calling, “Cheers, mate!” before he whirls into view and steps out of the grate, brushing ash off his shoulders and Vanishing it before it hits the carpet. He’s slightly pink, and he’s got dark circles under his eyes, but he’s—smiling? “Harry! Hermione! Merlin, did you invite over the entire Trainee class? Who’s all this food for?”

Harry’s jaw drops. “Ron—you seem...very cheery today? And who was that you were talking to?”

“Oh,” Ron says casually, plopping into the chair opposite and grabbing a pastry. “Just Malfoy. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be cooking—he made brunch, I’m stuffed.” In direct contradiction to his words, Ron’s already eaten half the pastry.

Harry frowns and looks at Hermione, who looks equally confused. “Er…” he starts. “So...you’re doing alright, then? Spell is broken, everything is fine?”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Don’t you think I’d be a bit more upset if the bloody thing was still active?”

“Frankly, Ron, I expected you to be _a bit more upset_ that you had to shag Malfoy, even if it _was_ only once...have you been hexed? Did he put something in your food?” Harry raises his wand, poised to cast diagnostics.

Ron frowns at him. “Of course he didn’t. We woke up, verified the bond was fully broken, had a perfectly pleasant breakfast, and I came straight home. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Right,” Harry says dubiously, casting a few diagnostic spells anyway. They shine clean. “So, er. I mean. Are you feeling okay…? Honestly, you look exhausted.”

Ron, inexplicably, flushes. “Ah. Well, you know. I was up quite late, and you know I don’t sleep in very well any more. I’ll likely need a nap soon, actually.” Hermione makes a small squeaking sound at that.

“Oh,” Harry says, feeling a rush of sympathy. “So it was all bollocks, then, everything he said about… I mean, the bond required you to reach completion once? It must have been awful, I’m so sorry.”

Ron stuffs the rest of the pastry in his mouth and swallows. “Oh, no worries on that score, mate. We actually gave it a second go, just to be sure. So you see, I’m just a little knackered from being up late, that’s all. Nothing dubious.”

Harry’s eyes feel like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “You gave it a…? So wait, does that mean…? No, don’t tell me! Don’t tell me anything at all!” He’s suddenly assaulted with a rush of images, of Malfoy and _Ron,_ and Merlin, why oh _why_ is he feeling revulsion at imagining his best friend _in flagrante,_ but imagining Malfoy only induces a sense of…

Nope. He shuts that entire train of thought down firmly, then stands. “Well. All’s well that ends well, then, so thrilled you’re just fine. I just remembered I have to, er, pop over to the Ministry, some paperwork I forgot...I’ll see you both later?” He hastens to the fireplace, and as he tosses the Floo powder in and calls out for the private connection to his office, he hears Hermione pick up the conversation.

“Don’t mind him, we’ll talk about that later. So, tell me, was it anything like in the book with the Aurors, you know, the one where…”

Harry groans and just barely stops himself from blocking his ears as he whirls out of the room.

* * *

Harry shouldn’t be surprised by how fast the news spreads throughout the Ministry the next day—bond records are public, after all, and anything involving an employee in a scandal is bound get leaked—but he still is fairly nonplussed by the amount of people who _just wanted to drop by_ all day, not to mention the stacks of memos filled with the thinnest of requests before not-so-subtly digging for information.

Ron laughs it off, but by lunch his smile looks fairly fixed, and the lines around his eyes are deepening, so Harry speaks quietly with Robards before hauling the two of them out of the Ministry for an extended lunch.

“So…” Harry starts hesitantly, once their starters are delivered and Ron is halfway through his second pint. “Are you doing alright? You seemed fine yesterday, but…” When Harry had arrived home from his head-clearing alone time at the Ministry (where he had spoken very firmly to himself about letting his imagination run wild about _Malfoy_ of all people, even if he _was_ looking so different from their school days, tall and wiry and…), Ron and Hermione were nowhere in sight, and Ron’s door was firmly shut and warded, and frankly, Harry hadn’t wanted to know.

Ron sighs and polishes off his drink. “No, I’m fine. Really. Just...people keep taking the piss, you know, and it’s nobody’s _fault,_ and they’re acting like it was this horrible thing I had to do, just because I’m straight, and all these snide little comments that of _course_ Malfoy would be up for it just because _he_ likes men and everyone thinks he doesn’t pull, and...I know I’ve been guilty of talking like that in the past, but it’s horrible really, and unfair. Malfoy was no fonder of me than I was of him, right? It’s not right to joke that just because he’s gay he’ll shag anything on offer. And really, he couldn’t have been more decent about the whole thing, considering if there _was_ blame to be assigned, it would go to me—I should have known better than to speak Latin around the books.” He looks glum for a minute, but perks up. “In fact, he gave me some really good advice about Hermione! We had dinner right when I went over, and Merlin, can he ever cook—who would have thought—and he asked me why Hermione didn’t seem more upset about the whole thing, you know, and I explained about the breakup and everything, and he was all snotty about it at first, but after he got that out of his system he really made a lot of sense—he was talking about how Hermione has her own career and expecting her to do more chores than me isn’t fair, and that it _also_ isn’t fair for me to force her to remind me to do stuff around the house, because that’s not actually less work for her.”

Harry gapes. “Are you serious? That’s _exactly_ the kind of thing I’ve been telling you for ages! It’s what _I_ have been trying to force you into getting better at while you stay with me! Whenever I’d try to talk about it with you, you’d get angry! But _Malfoy_ swans in and suddenly you’re seeing reason?”

Ron looks sheepish. “Well, I dunno, it just sounded _different_ when he said it, you know? It made sense.”

“Whatever,” Harry mutters, cutting into his shepherd’s pie forcefully. “You’re right, though; some of what people have been saying about Malfoy—or _not_ saying I guess, more implying—it’s been properly horrid. All that shite Donaldson was spewing about what Malfoy must have _wanted done to him_ —as if it’s any of _his_ business, anyway, creepy old bastard—”

Nodding furiously, Ron interrupts. “Right! And, honestly, what’s the _shame_ in knowing what you like in bed, anyway? It certainly helped that he knows what feels good, especially when we decided that he needed to— Er.” Stopping abruptly, Ron colours.

Harry carefully puts his fork down. There’s a strained silence for a moment, Ron steadily downing his newest beer while Harry most certainly _does not_ think about it.

“And the bloody _memos_!” Harry finally blurts, firmly packaging the whole thing up into a little box and tucking it in the back of his mind, next to the box from yesterday’s deep breathing session. “All these plonkers suddenly asking for consults—not bloody likely, just looking for an excuse to come up here and slide their questions in—does nobody have anything _else_ to do today?”

Ron seizes on the topic change with the air of a man previously drowning being offered a life vest. “Oh, Merlin, absolutely, and not a one of them with any tact or subtlety about it at all. Not sure why they think they’re going to trick me into saying anything?”

Lunch continues in the less-fraught vein of slagging off their coworkers and the Ministry bureaucrats as a whole, and as they walk back into the bullpen and towards their adjoining offices, Ron’s got a spring in his step again, so Harry calls lunch a success—until, that is, he spots Seamus leaning on the wall between their doors.

Groaning internally, Harry considers trying to steer them to the break room for coffee and delay a bit more, but it’s too late—Seamus has spotted them.

“Ron! Harry! There you are; taking your time at lunch were you, I’ve been waiting ages!”

Ron chuckles and punches Seamus in the shoulder as they approach, and all three of them file into Harry’s office. “Alright, Finnigan. I take it the goss hit Games and Sports, then?”

Seamus makes himself comfortable on Harry’s couch. “Merlin, _did it_. You should have heard some of the witches in Liaisons, Ronnie—they didn’t know whether to swoon because here’s Malfoy acting out one of his own bloody books, or cry because they think it means he’s off the market for them! You stick around too long and you get whiplash. Anyway, they sent me up here to get the scoop, since we’re friends. Anything I’m allowed to report back?”

Harry winces, but Ron leans back in his chair, apparently still relaxed. “‘Fraid not. Not just my story to tell, you know? It wouldn’t be right. I didn’t know Liaisons had the horn for Malfoy that badly, though—if it makes them feel better, you can probably tell them he likes women too.”

“Noted,” Seamus responds. “It was okay, then? I’ve heard he’s less intolerable than he used to be. Did you learn any new tricks?” He waggles his eyebrows. Harry sighs and tries to focus on the paperwork from last week he’s been putting off.

“None I’m likely to ever use again, honestly,” Ron says thoughtfully.

“Oh,” Seamus says. “So, I mean. That...you haven’t decided you like men now, too?”

“Oh, no. I’m definitely straight. But a brilliant shag is a brilliant shag, innit?”

Harry stands abruptly. “Er—tea,” he mumbles, when Ron and Seamus turn to stare at him. He hustles out into the hall, ears burning.

* * *

After a few days, almost everyone at the Ministry seems to get the hint that Ron won’t be telling tales, but a few intrepid souls still try to trick him into spilling by asking if the reality was anything like the books.

Ron laughs it off, but sometimes he gets caught into a conversation, and Harry overhears a few tidbits shared almost by accident.

Things like, “Oh, no, it was _nothing_ like that, he really knows how to make a bloke feel comfortable with all of it, honestly. I was bloody terrified—I mean, who wouldn’t be? But he talked me through it, you know, and he knows this absolutely _brilliant_ spell that…”

And, to a giggling Parvati in the break room, things like, “You know, I never really saw it, the whole thing everybody’s got about his hair and his eyes, but when you have him looking at you _like that_ in the middle of...well, what we were doing? All I’ll say is, it really isn’t hard to understand now.”

And, finally, at pub night, things like, “Honestly, I never really—I mean, I’m not a homophobe, right, people should be able to live their lives how they want, but I never really _got_ it. Mostly I figured I didn’t have to though; it’s not for me and that’s all there is to it. I get it now, though.”

Hermione had been there for that last one, and she’d looked at Ron with pride and...unfortunately, no small amount of what Harry was forced to acknowledge as lust. She’s been one of the worst offenders in trying to dig for details, frankly, and since she’s been around a lot more, Harry is almost always in earshot whenever Ron accidentally drops new information.

He hates it.

Except...well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? He doesn’t hate it, at all.

He might _pretend_ he doesn’t want to hear it, might act like he’s not listening whenever someone starts asking Ron questions. But in reality, Harry is hanging on every single word.

He can’t stop thinking about it.

Hell, he’s even _dreaming_ of it, recently, except instead of Ron it’s him, and Malfoy keeps walking closer and closer, murmuring _let me help you reach completion, Potter,_ and then Harry wakes up sweaty.

It doesn’t help that, after being utterly out of his life for years, Malfoy is suddenly _everywhere_ now. A few weeks after the whole… _incident,_ he even comes in to take Ron out to lunch, which, what the fuck? And then after they get back Malfoy hangs around for entirely too long, perching on Harry’s desk and ignoring him in favour of chatting up Ron, and, well, it’s Ron’s fault, really, that he’s inadvertently shared enough details that now even _Harry_ is noticing that Malfoy’s got one hell of an arse, actually, and that his cheekbones are high, and that his mouth is mobile and full and really quite lovely when he laughs. Which he’s doing. A lot. At Ron’s jokes. Which _aren’t even that funny._

Harry starts and knocks a stack of files off his desk in his fluster. Malfoy notices him _then,_ of course, a smile quirking the side of _his mouth_ up as he shares an amused glance with Ron. And that just—well, it’s not on, and Harry storms out of the office without a word.

He hesitates outside the door, though, just long enough to hear Ron say, “He’ll get it eventually, you know. Hermione’s convinced it’s only a matter of days. Hey, look, speaking of Hermione—we’ve got a pub night planned for Friday. You should come along; you can tell me if it looks like she’s warming up to me. I know you said it _sounded_ like it, but that’s not the same as actually _seeing_ us together, right?”

Bloody fuck. Harry beelines for the break room. He just needs a snack, and that will calm the fluttery feeling in his stomach, for sure.

* * *

When pub night rolls around, Harry drinks too much too quickly out of nerves, and by the time Malfoy finally arrives, he’s sullen and quiet and can barely muster up a cordial greeting.

Finally, Malfoy manages to corner him at the bar, mouth turned down. “Potter, are you okay? Really, if me being here bothers you so much, I can leave...I just thought, well, maybe, since Ron and I—”

And, really, Harry’s shocked his outburst took him this long. “Damn _right_ it bothers me! I can’t fucking stop _thinking_ about you, bloody hell Malfoy, I have Ron raving on about how good you are in bed and suddenly, it’s like—it’s like—fuck, am I gay? Am I bisexual? I don’t even _know_ what’s going on, and it’s all your bloody fault!”

Malfoy blinks at him for a minute, then leads them outside. Harry follows, docile and exhausted from his outburst.

“Look, Potter. I can’t say I didn’t...see this coming, although perhaps not quite that loudly, or in public. And after talking with Ron, part of me was hoping that… Anyway. You’ve had a lot to drink. Ron’s going back with Granger tonight, I think, and you can’t get back on your own, so—”

“—so you’ll help me figure it out, right? Like you helped Ron? Ron’s the straightest bloke I know, and if you’re able to get _him_ enjoying it…”

Malfoy sighs, then grasps Harry’s elbow firmly. “I’ve already said it once, Potter—I don’t take drunk straight men to bed, not even ones who think they want to try something out. If you still feel this way tomorrow, we can talk.”

“Fine,” Harry grumbles, pawing at Malfoy’s arm until Malfoy hisses in annoyance, transfers his grip from Harry’s elbow to his hand, and Apparates them to Grimmauld Place. Harry doesn’t remember anything after that.

* * *

When Harry wakes up, he opens his eyes and immediately regrets it. Groaning, he tries to shove a nearby pillow over his head, but instead something solid hits him in the cheek. “Why?” he croaks, then sits up and grabs at the offending item, bringing it close to his face and squinting.

It’s a fine glass bottle, heavier and more solid than the phials sold in the commercial Potions shops, and has an elegant handwritten label reading “Hngovr Pn. bttld 18/4, use by 18/12”. _Oh, thank fuck,_ Harry thinks fervently, tossing it back in one go and noting the unusually pleasant minty aftertaste—the shop-bought version tastes unpleasantly of overripe fruit salad allowed to sit out in the heat for too long.

He finally feels steady enough to get up, so he bathes, and, after he’s considered and discarded drowning himself in the shower to escape the horror of his behaviour last night, finally makes his way downstairs, tugging on a hooded jumper and following the smell of buttered toast.

There’s a breakfast spread in the sitting room—apparently Harry’s not the only nervous chef—and Malfoy’s lurking awkwardly near the front door, shifting from foot to foot until he sees Harry and straightens so abruptly Harry almost hears his spine snap.

Sighing, Harry gestures into the sitting room. “Look. Stop being a prat, and come and eat some of this breakfast that _you cooked_. Alright?”

“...fine,” Malfoy says, cautiously following Harry in and primly sitting opposite him.

Their breakfast is silent and horrible, and finally Harry puts his fork down. “Look. I’ve never been with a man before. Prior to last week, I wasn’t even aware it was something I wanted. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I _do_ know that I want you. I _like_ you, as bizarre as that must seem to all. I want to try with you.”

Malfoy sighs in a very put-upon fashion, deliberately pushes his plate away, stands, stalks around the coffee table, sits in Harry’s lap, and proceeds to thoroughly snog his face off.

When he finally pulls back, Harry’s dazed and his lips are numb, and he’s pretty sure his erection is going to leave a bruise on Malfoy’s thigh where it’s pushing against him.

“Well, Potter, I think that clears _that_ up nicely—you, unlike your friend, _do_ like men. As far as what to do next…” and Malfoy smirks, the same one Harry saw in his office before the whole incident with Ron, and now he recognises his reaction for what it is, and good lord, does Malfoy acting like a smug little prat turn him on? “...well, there’s a whole world of possibilities. Where did you want to start? It’s my _pleasure_ to walk you through it all.”

Harry stands from the couch. Malfoy yelps and clutches his neck, and Harry wraps his arms around Malfoy’s waist and Apparates them directly to the bedroom.

As soon as Malfoy has his footing again, he shoves Harry onto the bed, and Harry goes easily, too turned on to protest at the rough treatment.

“Get your shirt off,” Malfoy instructs, stripping off his own vest and tossing it over his shoulder. Harry scrambles to comply, eyes fixed on the broad expanse of skin now in front of him, and oh, he can suddenly see all those all those _mismatched libido_ issues he and Ginny had from a whole different perspective.

Malfoy climbs on top of him, a vaguely frightening glint in his eye, and gets his hands in Harry’s hair before kissing him again, and really, _how_ is he so good at this? Harry winds his arms around Malfoy’s torso and drags his hands down until he reaches Malfoy’s arse, which feels just as good as it had looked perched on his desk at the office earlier that week.

Breaking the kiss off, Malfoy curses and nips Harry’s neck when Harry squeezes. “Fuck, Potter,” he pants, licking over the stinging bitemark. “You _do_ take liberties.” He starts a slow, relentless grind that makes Harry whine through his teeth at how _good_ it feels, and fuck, if this is what it’s like with four layers of clothing between them, what will it be like when there’s nothing there at all?

Malfoy seems to catch his train of thought, because one whisper later they’re both naked, and Malfoy’s managed to slick them both up, and the slide is just filthy, Malfoy’s cock hot against his own, and Harry is being _unbelievably_ loud, gasping into Malfoy’s mouth as they kiss again and Draco adds a little twist to his hips that nearly causes Harry to come right there.

“Oh fuck,” Harry moans, grabbing at every bit of skin he can get his hands on. “ _Fuck,_ Draco, holy hell, that feels so _fucking_ good.”

“Yeah?” Draco pants, voice tight. He’s starting to sweat slightly, skin salty when Harry licks at his collarbone. “You’re going to _love_ what we do next, then.”

He starts to slide down Harry’s torso, stopping to bite at his nipples until Harry’s near tears at how good it feels, then finally licking his way down until he’s got his face buried in the trimmed patch of hair just over Harry’s cock.

Harry is clenching his fists so hard he’s not sure he isn’t breaking skin with his nails, but if he doesn’t do _something,_ the sight of Draco just inches away from his prick is going to make him come on the spot, and he rather suspects he doesn’t want to miss what’s on offer.

Almost delicately, Draco closes his mouth around the head of Harry’s cock and sucks. Harry whines high in his throat and slaps his hands down on the bed. Draco grabs one of them and puts it on the back of his head, winking up at Harry before he slides his mouth down and takes the entirety of Harry’s cock into his throat.

“Fuck, oh _fuck,_ ” Harry shouts, tightening his fingers in Draco’s hair and bucking up into his mouth. Draco hums and takes it, letting Harry fuck up into his throat until with one more shout and a convulsive tug on Draco’s head, Harry comes.

He must black out for a minute, because next thing he knows, Draco’s straddling his waist, staring down at Harry’s chest and face, hand a blur over his own cock. “Let me,” Harry croaks, batting Draco’s hand away and closing his hand around his cock.

Draco groans deep in his throat and falls forward, planting his hands on either side of Harry’s head and kissing him. Harry can taste himself on Draco’s tongue, and that’s far more erotic than he thought it would be, and he adds a bit of a twist to his motion, along with a rub over the head of Draco’s cock on every other stroke, and it’s not long before Draco’s coming too, all over Harry’s stomach and chest.

He flops face-first onto the bed next to Harry, who directs cleaning spells over both of them. They catch their breath in silence for a while, then Draco props himself up and smirks down at Harry. “Well?”

“Holy shit,” is all Harry can manage, and Draco laughs, that same delighted laugh he’d heard in his office when Draco visited Ron, and Harry feels a curl of pride in his stomach.

He rolls onto his side, and Draco arranges them so they’re curled into each other. “Is it always like that?” Harry asks after a moment, dragging his hand down Draco’s side and noting the shiver that triggers.

“No,” Draco replies softly, leaning forward and kissing him. The kiss heats up quickly, and sooner than Harry thought was possible he’s getting hard again. Based on Draco’s wandering hands, he’s in the same state.

Draco pulls back briefly, eyes roaming over Harry’s face. “No,” he says again, smiling. “It’s hardly _ever_ like that, as it so happens.”

“And with…” Harry isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to his question; isn’t sure he even has the right to ask.

Draco snorts inelegantly. “No, Harry. It was _not_ like that with Weasley. Straight men are chicken when it comes to cocks.”

Harry chuckles. “Well, you should know that he’s telling all and sundry what a great shag you are. Seems he had a grand time even if you didn’t.”

“Of course he did,” Draco says smugly. “I’m a bloody fantastic shag. It’s a point of pride. But trust me…” one hand wanders down to squeeze Harry’s arse, while the other fondles Harry’s now nearly-erect cock, “...you’ve absolutely nothing to worry about. I have very firm ideas of what I want in a partner, and Weasley would _not_ be it, even if he weren’t so painfully straight.”

Harry has to close his eyes at that, and when he opens them, the look on Draco’s face...well, he can’t _not_ kiss him, and it’s reassurance and hope and arousal all mixed up, and they find themselves quite occupied for a while longer.

* * *

They make their way back downstairs eventually. Harry puts together some snacks and brings them to the sitting room, but there’s Draco in just those tight, _tight_ pants, examining his bookshelves and poking through his photos, and well, Harry has no choice but to abandon the food and push Draco onto the couch for another round of enthusiastic snogging.

Things are getting interesting again, and Harry can feel sweat trickling down his spine as he starts to rock against Draco and nip at his neck. He’s just wondering if he has enough in him for a third round, but suddenly the fireplace flares, and Harry hears Ron say “Oh, _what_ the hell, on the couch, mate?” and he yelps and rolls directly off Draco onto the floor.

Ron stares at them for a minute, then sinks to the floor, laughing so hard he’s holding his stomach and actually _crying_.

Harry glances back at Draco, who’s covering his groin with his hands and taking the scene in with wide eyes, and shrugs sheepishly. “Er...hey, Ron? You wouldn’t by any chance be back here to tell me that you’re moving back in with Hermione, would you?”

But Ron is howling with laughter, utterly incapable of forming words.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is [here](%E2%80%9C), come say hi!


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